am hampered by my small capital."
"My neighbors in Sunderland would be surprised to hear that," said Dr. Baker, smiling. "They look upon you as one of the merchant princes of New York."
"Do they?" said Walton, looking gratified. "Some day I hope to be what they think I am now."
"You will be, if you are not too much in haste."
"So I hope. And you, I hope you are prospering?" said the merchant, guardedly.
"I have no cause for complaint," said his brother-in-law, "especially now."
"What does he mean by 'especially now?'" thought the merchant.
"I am glad to hear it," he said, aloud.
Arrived at the house in Twelfth street – it was a plain brick house of three stories – dinner was found to be awaiting, and as they sat down at once, there was no opportunity for a private conversation. When the cloth was removed, and they were left to themselves, Walton invited his brother-in-law's confidence by saying, suggestively:
"So business of importance brought you to New York, doctor?"
"Yes, business of great importance!"
"I suppose it seems great to him," thought Walton. "Well," he said aloud, "you have aroused my curiosity. It is only fair to gratify it."
"That is what I propose to do. Let me say, then, that this day has made a great change in me."
"I don't see any change," said Walton, puzzled.
"Yet it has; I awoke this morning a poor man. To-night I am rich."
"You – haven't been speculating?" said Walton, curiously.
"No; I had no money to speculate with. But to-day a fortune has come to me."
"A fortune! How much?"
"One hundred thousand dollars!" answered the physician.
"A hundred thousand dollars!" ejaculated Nicholas Walton, staring at his brother-in-law in amazement.
"Yes."
"Explain yourself – that is, if you are not joking."
"Fortunately it is not a joke. As to the explanation, here it is: Some years ago I was called, when a young practitioner in New York (I began here, you know), to attend a wealthy West Indian planter, boarding at the New York Hotel. He was critically sick, and required constant attention. I had little to do, and devoted myself to him. He was convinced that he owed his life to me. He paid me handsomely then, and requested me to keep him apprised of my whereabouts. I have done so. Yesterday I received a letter, requesting me to come to New York, and call at a certain room in the Fifth Avenue Hotel. I did so. I found a Cuban gentleman, who, first apprising me that my former patient was dead, added, to my amazement, that he had left me in his will one hundred thousand dollars. Furthermore, he had the amount with him in negotiable securities, and transferred them at once to my hands."
"And you have them with you?"
"Yes."
"It was strangely informal."
"True, but this gentleman was about to sail for Europe, to be absent five years – he sailed this afternoon – and he wished to be rid of his commission."
"It is like a romance," said the merchant, slowly.
"Yes, it's like a romance. I don't mind telling you," added the doctor, in a lower tone, "that it relieves me very much. Conscious, as I am, that my life hangs on a thread, it makes me easy about the future of my wife and child."
"Your life hangs on a thread? What do you mean?"
"I mean," said the physician, seriously, "that our family is subject to heart disease. My grandfather died at a minute's notice; so did my father; so, in all probability, shall I. No insurance company, knowing this, would insure me, and, till this windfall came, I was subject at times to great anxiety."
"Does your wife – my sister – know that you have received this money?" asked Walton, slowly.
"No; she merely knows that I received a letter from New York."
"And you are really liable to die suddenly?"
"Yes; I shall probably drop dead some day. My father died at my present age. Any sudden excitement – "
"Good heavens! what is the matter with you?" exclaimed Walton, springing to his feet, excitedly.
"What do you mean?" asked the physician, startled.
"Your face is livid; you look like a corpse. Great heavens! has your time come?"
Doctor Baker rose to his feet in terrible agitation; his face changed; he put his hand on his heart, swayed himself for a moment, and then fell lifeless.
Walton had supplied the sudden excitement, and brought upon him the family doom.
Nicholas Walton, half-terrified, half-triumphant, gazed at his victim. He knelt down, and tearing open the vest of his visitor, placed his hand upon his heart.
It had ceased to beat.
"Now for the securities!" he murmured hoarsely.
They were found. A brief examination showed that they were negotiable by bearer. He carefully locked them up in his desk, and then, ringing the bell hastily, summoned a physician. One came, but could afford no help.
"Now," he said to himself, with inward exultation, "this fortune is mine, and I can realize the dream of my life! No one will ever be the wiser."
CHAPTER IV.
The Mock Philanthropist
Nicholas Walton, much sooner than he had anticipated, was able to realize the dream of his life. He engaged a larger store on Broadway, within three months of the death of his brother-in-law. The latter was supposed to have died a poor man. In settling up his estate it was found that he left only the modest cottage in which he had lived. Mrs. Baker's anxiety, however, was alleviated by the following letter from her brother Nicholas:
"My Dear Sister: – I sympathize with you sincerely in your sad and sudden loss. I am afraid my poor brother-in-law has not been able to leave you comfortably provided for. I cannot do as much as I would like, but I will send you a monthly sum of twenty-five dollars, which, as you have no rent to pay, will perhaps keep you comfortable. If I can at any time feel justified in so doing, I will increase this allowance."
"Nicholas is very kind," said Mrs. Baker, to her friends. "He has done this without any appeal from me."
She really felt grateful for his kindness, as she termed it, having no suspicion of the terrible secret that haunted her brother day and night, making him an unhappy man in spite of his outward prosperity. But he had no intention of making restitution; his remorse did not go so far as this.
"As to taking a hundred thousand dollars from my business," he said, in answer to conscience, "it would cripple me seriously. Besides, my sister doesn't want it; it would do her no good. She and her children can live comfortably on what I send her."
He tried to persuade himself that
